


two quarters and a heart down

by lacecat



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Canon Disabled Character, Dance Competition Reality TV AU, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, more ships to come because everyone is gay and poly and silver doesn't realize that for a while, silver's a celebrity who has never danced in his goddamn life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-04-24 01:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: “The contestants?” Flint repeats.Charlotte has never met a man so recalcitrant to go on camera before, considering he performs for a living. She nods. “Just tell me about your general impressions.”“They’re….” There’s a long pause, and Charlotte tries her best not to look at the clock across the studio as he finally says, “….here."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> idk what I even write anymore (part 2/? coming soon)

“Interview starts in ten,” his assistant warns from the doorway before departing. Silver stares at his reflection in the mirror and digs around for another hair tie.

 

He’s done countless press interviews and photo shoots, but the energy backstage here is something else entirely. But John Silver’s not about to be overwhelmed by some dance reality show, thanks. Not after everything he’s been through.  

 

There are some running footsteps outside his door, probably panicked sound technicians, then the faint music that signals that they’re about to be filming in the studio. Silver fastens his hair up, checks to make sure there are no obvious stains on his shirt, before getting up.  

 

It’s a short walk to the filming room where they have the table over which they do the confessional - style interviews, and a green screen backdrop so that he can look like he’s in front of a waterfall or something. The interviewer’s already there, as an assistant not so subtly guides him to the chair he’s supposed to be in. A makeup artist puts a little more concealer on him as he gets comfortable in the chair across from the interviewer, who’s checking her phone. The interviewer - _Charlotte_ , his mind supplies for him - gets her own makeup touched up, and then, the cameras start to roll.  

 

“So, John, tell us - what first made you want to appear on _Everyone, Dance!_?” Charlotte asks him, and Silver puts on that megawatt grin that he knows landed him this spot in the first place.  

 

He leans forward just a little in a way he knows makes the camera angle much more flattering on his features, as the camera pans in on his face.  

 

“Well, I’ve always loved to dance, as a matter of fact,” Silver tells her, “But I really wanted to be here to talk about my new charity Little Gives Big, where our goal is ending domestic hunger…”

 

 

•••

SIX MONTHS AGO 

 

 

“I hope your night was worth it,” Max says. She looks utterly out of place here in the grimy police station, all perfectly ironed clothing and immaculate hair, while Silver’s wearing a ripped shirt that he thinks might not even be his - though he’s too hungover to really care.  

 

He’s also having his handcuffs removed by a police officer while Max watches, and then he’s handed his release paperwork with a promise to return to court - and, would you look at that, his bail has bumped up another notch too. 

 

“It was pretty good,” Silver says as he fills it out, signing his name with a flourish, then hands it to the officer with a wink while Max crosses her arms. “Thanks for bailing me out.”  

 

“It will not happen again,” Max warns, as the police officer leaves them, like they haven’t been in this situation before, like _she_  hasn’t been here before. “Silver - “  

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m drinking and partying myself into an early grave,” Silver says, swallowing at the nausea that creeps up when he looks up at the fluorescent lighting overhead. He focuses back on her. “Hey, did they tell you if they're going to return my things to me?” 

 

“Not since they found those tablets in your pocket,” Max says, as they’re directed to the front exit now. “Keep moving. We’ll talk in the car.” 

 

“We good out front?” Silver asks, although he can already hear the clamoring from through the glass windows in the front. 

 

Max hands him sunglasses in response, and as they push open the doors, the paparazzi begin their swarm, the rapid fire sound of the camera shutters and the bright flashes of light.  

 

“John! Can you tell us why you were arrested - “ 

 

“Is it drugs again? John, are you addicted - “ 

 

“ - here on the scene, where you can see the party-hard playboy John Silver, whose absence has been sorely missed - “ 

 

“ - millionaire and owner of Silver Technology, who was taken into custody early this morning - “  

 

“ - now, now,” Silver says to the paparazzi blocking the car door, grinning at them as he puts his leg into the car. “I’ll be back here pretty soon, so don’t you folks worry if you don’t get your sound bite today, all right?”  

 

He closes his door, and the driver makes his way through the crowd of people, the car only muffling the roar of the crowd outside somewhat. Beside him, Max frowns. “You shouldn’t say things like that.” 

 

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Silver says, watching out the window as one of the men manages to run alongside the car long enough to snap another photo of them driving away. He glances over at her. “Think the tabloids will call you my girlfriend again?”  

 

“I’m serious,” Max says. “You _cannot_  keep on doing this. The board - “ 

 

“The board will deal with it, it’s not like I’m snorting cocaine on the company dime or something,” Silver says. “I’m just having a bit of fun, all right?” 

 

“You were arrested _again_  - “ 

“And I’ll do my community service, do the apologetic press tour again, yes, yes, I get it.”  

 

“They said you could barely _walk_ when they took you in,” Max says. “John. You need help.” 

 

“Max, I don’t need anyone’s help,” Silver says. "What I need right now is a bagel, a long shower, and some sleep. I’ll be fine in the morning, in time to present to the trustees for the quarterly meeting tomorrow - “  

 

“John, I’m telling you, you need help,” Max says, firm, and Silver looks at her. “I made some calls. You’re going to the rehabilitation center tomorrow - “  

 

Silver gapes at her. “You can’t just send me to rehab!” 

 

“ - since you won’t listen to me, yes, you will,” Max snaps. “I think you’re a harm to yourself, especially if you cannot see how destructive you have been these past few months.”  

 

“Max, I can’t just leave the company for that long - “ 

 

“Then tell me you’ll be clean,” Max says, and Silver clenches his jaw, looks away from her. “Go on. Try and promise me.” 

 

As the car moves smoothly through the city, Silver looks back at her. “Max, is this because you’re worried about the stockholders? I can convince them - “ 

 

“You’re an idiot,” Max tells him curtly. “I’m worried about _you_. Ever since Madi left - “ 

 

“Don’t,” Silver says, quiet, and thankfully, she doesn’t continue down that particular path. “I get it.” 

 

As the car slows down to a stop in front of the penthouse back entrance, Max reaches out, puts her hand on top of his. “I don’t want you gone any more than you do,” she says. “But you need help, one way or another. Something to occupy you - something that isn’t going to make me get calls from the police station at four in the morning?” 

 

Silver looks out the window. Across the street, there’s an electronic billboard advertising some new reality television show in bright, bold letters that flicker on the marquee going by. There are a man and a woman depicted, the moment captured as he lifts her effortlessly above his head, the graceful curve of her torso moving up.  

 

_Celebs dance for charity_ , the billboard reads, o _n Everyone, Dance!_

 

“Max,” Silver says, squinting at the sign, “I might have an idea.” 

 

••• 

 

NOW 

 

“That was nice,” Max says, as the camera stops rolling, and Silver has shaken the interviewer’s hand and started to head back to his dressing room. “You looked confident without being - “ 

 

“Overwhelmingly handsome?”  

 

“Arrogant,” Max finishes. “Already from just the press release you put out, we’re getting a spike in the social media mentions about Little Gives Big. When this airs, it’ll put us on the map much more.”  

 

“Do we know who my partner will be yet?” Silver asks as they walk down the hallway that connects most of the dressing rooms. “I’ve done very little dancing for a dancing show, I must say.”  

 

“Featherstone told me that it’s two weeks of training, then the first competition,” Max says, checking her phone. Even though she’s probably far too busy to be here in the first place, she’s the only person he speaks to regularly right now, and so Silver invited her as his guest backstage. “The dancers don’t even know who they’re partnered up yet either, I’ve heard. They’ll probably announce the final decisions tomorrow since you’ll train with just the dancer - “  

 

While he’s looking back at Max, he doesn’t see the person walking down the other side of the hallway, and he finds himself colliding right into someone - someone who swears under his breath as Silver veers to the side in response. “Sorry,” he says, turning to look - and then he stops. “Oh, shit,” Silver says. “You’re on the billboards!” 

 

The man glances back up at him, looking faintly irritated. “Pardon?”  

 

“ _You’re_  James Flint,” Silver says, and the more he stares at him, the more he’s sure of it. “You’re - I don’t really know any dancers, but I’ve heard of you.”  

 

“Great,” Flint says. “And who are you, exactly?”  

 

Silver grins at him. “You don’t know who I am?”  

 

“No,” Flint says, glancing down at his watch. “Now I’m late, so - “ 

 

“Of course, apologies,” Max says smoothly, pushing Silver ahead of her. “A pleasure, Mr. Flint.”  

 

As Flint turns to continue walking down the hallway, Silver stares after him. Flint’s in a gray tee shirt that clings around his torso, and even though he’s not in dancing attire, there’s something about the way he walks that makes no mistake on what he does -  

 

“No,” Max says, enunciating from beside him. “Absolutely _not_.” 

 

“What?”  

 

“You’re having _ideas,_ ” Max says. “Stop staring at the dancer you very rudely bumped into.”  

 

“Can’t a man just appreciate the physique of another man, the clear accomplishment of a dedicated athlete?” 

 

“Not when that man is leering like you are right now,” Max says. “Don’t even think about it. This show is to help _improve_  your image, and that’s not done by sleeping around the reality show you’re going to be appearing on.”  

 

“We could be partners,” Silver points out, then watching as Flint disappears around the corner, and Max hits his arm. “Hey, no injuring me, I have to dance soon!" 

 

“If James Flint is your partner,” Max tells him, “So help me - or rather, so help your social media director.”  

 

 

•••

 

 

“Can you tell me your first impressions of the contestants?” Idelle asks Miranda, who smooths down the front of her pressed trousers.  

 

“They have heart,” she tells her. “They’re here for their excellent causes, and I’m looking forward to working with them.” 

 

 

••• 

 

 

See, Silver wasn’t always fucked up.  

 

Yes, his parents passed away when he was young, and yes, being raised with far too much money and an emotionally distant aunt who had signed the guardianship paperwork as a formality hadn’t done _good_  things to his life, but for a while, he was doing fine. Silver grew up in boarding schools in ten different countries, and for all the time that he probably should have had a stable adult figure in his life, well, he had money to compensate, and better yet, money that he could use to hide or distract himself from any number of difficulties.  

 

Then he met the love of his life and lost her, because money can’t hide the fact that he doesn’t know how to hold onto things that are truly important, and after the accident, especially, he forgot to keep sight on what was important.  

 

Silver thinks that the only lucky part of his life is that he met Max (Brussels, summer camp for _emotionally troubled wealthy teens_ that includes orphans and children of distant oil tycoon parents) in the first place, and he’s had a sister for the past seventeen years or so. She was there when they went to business school, when he got the first arrest when he founded the first tech company, and she was there when Madi left him. 

 

He knows that if not for her intervention that day, he certainly wouldn’t be sitting in the middle of a barre studio (and he just learned what that was), watching as everyone introduced themselves down the two neat lines on both sides of the room, divided already into celebrities and dancers.  

 

From what he’s gathered, _Everyone, Dance!_ is a rather…. strange program. The “celebrities” are really just people known to the public and are in some way affiliated with some charity, most of them have very little experience doing anything on television that includes dancing, and they don’t even win any money at the end of it. But it’s excellent press, and ever since Silver’s latest stint with the law, he could really use the good press. Plus, it’s good coverage for Little Gives Big, even though Max had duly expressed her concerns with him participating from the start.  

 

He and celebrities have just spent a week in the dance boot camp, which was more cardio than anything. Silver’s huffed and puffed in the high-class facilities right next to them. He was reasonably in shape before, all considering, but they really put them through a lot. They started to teach them basic dance steps as well, and although Silver knows he’s far from _professional_ , he thinks that he’s strongly in the middle of the pack compared to the others.  

 

Now, in the studio, they’re all gathered for introductions. Silver looks at the simple, dark clothing that the dancers are wearing, and then he looks at the side of the room he’s on, where everyone’s dressed like a background dancer for an ABBA music video.  

 

On the celebrity side, there's Eleanor Guthrie - once a Wall Street exec, now the owner of one of the biggest media conglomerates in the world, who looks at everyone right in the eye even as she adjusts her tall blond ponytail. Then there’s Charles Vane, DJ and shareholder of one of the biggest Las Vegas casinos, who perhaps looks the most formidable, and Silver really is going to have to struggle to even picture him _dancing_.  

 

Next to him is the famous Thomas Hamilton, the MP who famously gave up his seat in order to start a campaign for human rights, and part of the reason there are more than a few bodyguards patrolling the building right then. There’s a seat open next to him, for someone who’s apparently running late to the first practice session, though no one seems too put off by it. He wonders who it is, even as the eyes in the room turn to him, the last in line.  

 

“John Silver,” Silver introduces himself with a big smile. “You might know me from the charity, the tech prize, or the sex tape from few years back. I’m not expecting a sequel for that last one, though.” 

 

That gains a few laughs in the room. Down the line, Silver sees Flint, who’s staring straight ahead like he’s trying to transport out of there through one of the mirrors on the wall.  

 

Then there are the dancers. Anne looks like she’s perpetually glaring at everyone else, her hair tied tightly into a bun on the top of her head as the man next to her introduces her. That man then introduces himself as Jack, and he explains his background in modern dance to a level of complexity that Silver’s sure he’s not the only one who’s more than a little lost by it.  

 

The next dancer is a woman named Idelle, who has a mischievous smile and winks at Silver. She steps back so that the woman next to him can introduce herself as Miranda, who Silver recognizes as the woman from the billboard with Flint. 

 

Silver then watches as she glances over to her right, at Flint, who’s staring up and down the celebrity line like he’s a police officer and they’re all the felons that were brought in for their mugshots. “Flint,” he says after a long pause, and his eyes meet Silver’s for a brief, thrilling second before he looks away, and Silver can feel a frown form on his face before he can help himself. “James Flint.”  

 

The doors open, then, and a familiar voice echoes in. “I apologize for my delay,” the woman who comes in says, as Silver inhales ever so slightly when she gets within eyesight, as Madi continues, “I was on a phone call with D.C. that ran over.”  

 

 

••• 

 

 

“What I think about the contestants?” Idelle asks, and she contemplates the air for a moment. “I mean, some of them are pretty fit, if you know what I mean.” 

 

“Please,” Charlotte says, “Idelle, this will be aired on family television - “ 

 

“What, I can’t say they’re good looking?”  

 

 

••• 

 

 

During the next break, Silver desperately wants to talk to Madi, but he’s also a coward, so he goes and hides in the bathroom.  

 

“Max,” he hisses into his phone, “ _She’s_ here.”  

 

“What - _Madi_?” Max answers, saying something to someone in the distance as Silver tries to remember how to breathe. “What do you mean?” 

 

“She’s the fifth contestant,” he says. “What do I do?”  

 

“Well, you can’t back out,” Max tells him, and he’d be insulted if only he wasn’t mentally going through the pros and cons of doing exactly that, “I suppose you’ll have to talk to her like a normal human being.” 

 

“Max - “ 

 

“I have a board meeting, Silver, I’m sure it’s just as strange for her,” and then Max hangs up on him. 

 

Silver hears the sink running, then, as if to alert him of someone else’s presence. Slowly getting up from where he was crouched on the ground in the stall, he walks out like he wasn’t having a panicked phone call in the lavatory. He’s wearing flared pants, for Christ’s sake.  

 

He’s not expecting Thomas Hamilton, who meets his eyes in the mirror. “You know her, don’t you?” he asks without preamble. Silver’s a little grateful at least that he doesn’t pretend he didn’t hear the conversation.  

 

“Know who?” Silver asks, and he goes to the sink beside him, attempting to remain casual.  

 

Beside him, Thomas adjusts his paisley printed shirt in the mirror.  “The lobbyist,” he says. “Madi Scott?” 

 

“We dated,” Silver says, unsure of where this is going.  

 

“Bad breakup?”  

 

“Why do you care?”  

 

“So I know how to manipulate you into losing,” Thomas says without missing a beat. “I plan on winning this, you know.”  

 

After one, stunned moment, Silver lets out a surprised laugh, reaching for a paper towel. “You don’t look like the type to make a joke,” he says without thinking of it. 

 

“And what do I look like?” 

 

Is - is he  _flirting_ with him? It can’t be. Silver replies, “Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t think that Parliament taught its reps how to dance.”  

 

That makes Thomas's mouth curl up into a smile. “I should ask the same of you,” he says, finishing tucking his shirt in. “You know, none of us out there look like we’ve ever set foot in a dance studio in our lives, based on this past week.”  

 

“Alas, my brief tap dance career in primary school didn’t take off as planned,” Silver tells him. “Who do you think you’ll be paired off with?”  

 

Thomas ducks his face away as if to stretch his neck, and it would look like a natural gesture if only Silver wasn’t an expert at recognizing signs of deflection, to hide whatever came across his features at that moment. “Oh, I don’t know, but I’m sure I’ll enjoy dancing with anyone there,” he says, before blinking back at Silver. “The dancers, they all seem very talented.”  

 

“Very talented, yes,” Silver repeats, and he holds the bathroom door open for him. “After you, Mr. Hamilton.”  

 

“Thank you, Mr. Silver,” Thomas says, and they both walk back into the studio. “I do hope to see you during the competition.”  

 

“I wish you the best of luck in losing,” Silver tells him, and Thomas laughs. The sound makes a couple people look in their direction, and Silver once again makes eye contact with Flint.  

 

The man is scowling right at him, and as Silver looks right back at him, the furrow in his brow deepens for a moment before he looks away like he’s been forced to. Silver’s not sure what he’s ever done to the man, other than bump into him, but he’s reasonably sure that he couldn’t have done anything, even in a blackout stupor, to deserve _that_  kind of look.  

 

“Thank you all for your patience,” Featherstone says from the center of the room, as the camera people race around him to get good shots of them lined up against the side of the studio. “I’m going to tell you who you’re partnered up with, now, and then you will go in for your individual reaction interviews with Charlotte back on the stage.” He mops his face with a tissue that one of the PAs provides him, as more makeup artists zoom around, adjusting people’s clothing and makeup before the cameras turn on.  

 

Silver glances at the dancers, who all have suspiciously flat expressions on their faces. He doesn’t blame them - they’re all professionals who have been corralled into this room to teach overgrown toddlers "to attempt to move with them.  

 

Featherstone turns to look at the camera right next to him, and someone announces that they’re rolling. “We’re gathered here to learn about the pairings for the very first season of _Everyone, Dance!_ ” he says, enthused. “Contestants, are you ready?” 

 

There’s a beat of silence. Featherstone clears his throat. “Contestants?”  

 

“Yes!” the group exclaims, Silver included.  

 

“Great!” Featherstone says. “Now, first up…”  

 

He holds up a bright purple envelope, with the name _Charles Vane_ printed on it, right up to the camera before opening it slowly, dramatically. “Charles Vane? Your partner is…. Idelle!” 

 

There’s applause from the people in the room, as Vane and Idelle step forward. She reaches out, shakes his hand, and Vane says something to her that makes her chuckle. Silver can’t hear what it is, but he does hear Featherstone mutter, “And we’ll just edit that out… Remember, please, you will be live during your performances…” 

 

They step back into the groups, and Featherstone picks up another envelope. “Eleanor Guthrie? Your partner for this season will be…. Jack!” 

 

Eleanor steps forward, as does Jack. They cast each other dubious looks, before Jack clears his throat, and holds out his arm so they step up towards the camera, both now with matching, nearly painful-looking smiles on their faces. Silver hides his smirk by pretending to adjust the tiny microphone on his shirt collar.  

 

“Excellent,” Featherstone says. “Let’s see… Madi Scott?”  

 

Silver watches as Madi steps forward. Even though she’s clothed in a bright turquoise dress and gigantic feathered earrings, she still looks incredible _._ She glances back, and she looks at Silver. Silver forgets that there are cameras, forgets anything other than her eyes on him, before she blinks and looks back towards Featherstone.  

 

“Madi Scott,” Featherstone says, ripping open the envelope. “Your partner will be…. Miranda!” 

 

There’s silence, and then murmuring along with applause at this announcement. From beside him, Thomas ducks his head down. “I didn’t know that they would have same-sex partners,” he says right into Silver’s ear. “Aren’t dancers usually a man and a woman?”  

 

“Now, now, Mr. Hamilton,” Silver says under his breath to him, watching as Madi takes Miranda’s hand, and they smile at each other quickly, unsure. “It’s the twenty-first century. Don’t you know that women can be with women, and men can be with men?”  

 

“Oh, I know that very well,” Thomas says, but before Silver can inquire more about _that_ , Featherstone is waving for them to quiet down. Madi and Miranda step back until Silver can only see the very top of Madi’s head in the crowd.  

 

“Now, now,” Featherstone says. “Here on _Everyone, Dance!,_ we have paired up the dancers and contestants in pairs that our panel of dance experts have deemed suitable, based on observations during training and today’s introductions. We’re looking forward to being the first primetime dance show that has same-sex partners in a competitive setting!” 

 

Silver realizes, suddenly, that it’s only him and Thomas left. Which means that his only options as a partner are Flint and Anne, both of whom look  _terrifying,_ wearing matching glowers right there when he looks over.  

 

But before he can consider this fully, Featherstone’s holding up another envelope. “John Silver,” he proclaims, “Are you ready to learn who will be your partner for this season of _Everyone, Dance!_?”  

 

“Why not,” Silver says, and sends a wink to the camera closest to him.  

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Featherstone says, “John Silver, your partner will be… James Flint!” 

 

Silver blinks once, then twice, and even as people clap, he can very clearly hear Flint say, “ _What_?” from behind him.  

 

Then Flint is right next to him, grabbing onto his hand so stiffly that Silver would laugh, only they’re both stepping forward right to the camera, awkward as prom dates.  

 

Featherstone tells them, “Congratulations!” and Silver looks over to Flint, who’s already looking at him through narrowed eyes.  

 

Jesus fucking Christ. He’s going to have to call Max and tell her that his new dance partner might kill him. 

 

•••

 

 

“The contestants,” Jack repeats. “They lack heart. Panache. A belief in the self and their identity.” 

 

“Ah,” Charlotte says. “They’re not good dancers?” 

 

“ _Dancers_? Charlotte, they are missing pieces that are integral to their humanity - this is about more than _dance_  - “  

 

 

••• 

 

 

After that, Thomas and Anne’s names are announced, to much less surprised fanfare. Anne doesn’t smile as she steps forward, but she doesn’t glare at Thomas anymore, either, who's already talking enough at the camera for both of them, to be fair.  

 

They’re then escorted in line for their personal interviews, and instructed not to speak with their partners until tomorrow when they’ll film the official first meetings when they start their one on one training. Silver glances over the crowd at Flint, who’s staring at him with daggers in his eyes.  

 

“Oh my god,” Silver says from under his breath. “This will be fun.”  

 

On camera, Charlotte asks Silver, “What was your first impression of Flint?”  

 

“Oh, he seems very charming,” Silver lies through his teeth, crossing his arms in front of him. “I think he’ll be a very enthusiastic partner, and I’m just _so very excited_ to work with him this season - “  

 

He avoids Madi after the interview. A missed call from Max pops up on his phone, and he pockets it.

 

 

•••

 

 

“They’re fine,” Anne says.  

 

Charlotte blinks. She would’ve thought this would have been a much tougher interview. “Really?”  

 

“You ain’t so professional, are you?” Anne says, looking at her, and Charlotte colors, straightening up in her chair. 

 

“Anne,” she says, glancing over at the camera that’s trained on the dancer, “Can you tell me your first impressions of the contestants?”  

 

“They’re shit,” Anne says. “I’m not surprised.”  

 

 

••• 

 

 

He’s making his way back to his dressing room when further down the hall, a door opens.  

 

Flint walks out, flexing his hand at his side, and when they see each other, they both freeze.  

 

“Uh,” Silver says, as Flint barks, “We can’t see each other.”  

 

“I know that,” Silver tells him. “But it’s a little too late now, isn’t it?”  

 

Flint glances at the door, looking as though he would go back in, and Silver sighs. “Listen, I’m just up here,” Silver says, approaching. Flint seems to stiffen, until Silver points at the plaque on the door with his name on it. “This is my dressing room. But more importantly - what were you doing in Featherstone’s office?”  

 

“That’s none of your business.”  

 

“Oh, come on,” Silver says, “Unless you and Featherstone are having some kind of torrid affair, I’m sure it’s nothing - “  

 

“For your information,” Flint grits out, “I was requesting that he change the lineup.” 

 

“Change the - so we wouldn’t be partners?”  

 

“Yes,” Flint says stiffly, “Now, if you’ll excuse me - “ and he pushes by Silver, then, going back down the hall.  

 

Silver lets out an incredulous sound after him. “What, are you a homophobe?”  

 

Mid-step, Flint stops. “Excuse me?” he asks, turning around, and Silver’s somewhat regretting saying anything, but now he’s just going to continue to dig this hole, so it seems.  

 

“I didn’t think you reacted badly when Madi and Miranda were announced, but maybe you’re one of those straight men who watches lesbian porn and thinks that clears him of anything,” Silver tells him, even as Flint starts to come back, looking angrier and angrier. “I mean, I thought you dancers were generally more liberal, but maybe there’s a first for every -  " 

 

He stops, because suddenly Flint is looming right there in front of him. He’s much taller than Silver remembered, enough so that Silver has to tilt his head back a little to look at him right in the eye at this proximity.  

 

“I,” Flint says, and his nose is two inches from the tip of Silver’s, “Am not. Homophobic.”  

 

“You could have fooled me,” Silver challenges. “I’ve done nothing to you, but yet, every time I look at you, it’s like I’ve hit your dog with my car. So I have to assume you have some weird problem with dancing with me - " 

 

“I saw you during initial training,” Flint says, still entirely too close for Silver’s comfort. “You’re by far the worst dancer here.” 

 

“ _Hey_ \- “ 

 

“You have no regard for any sort of _respect_ , Mr. Silver,” Flint says, “And I’ve worked too hard to be rendered an  _embarrassment_ by someone who will likely get us both injured before we even make it to the competition.”  

 

“ _Forgive me_ for not being a professional dancer already, and what’s more - “  

 

“I’ve heard about you, and that’s all I need to know,” Flint says, and Silver frowns. “Featherstone refuses to change the lineup, but that doesn’t mean you could drop out.” 

 

“Drop out?” Silver laughs right in his face, his anger getting to the better of him. Flint seems to know just what to say to get a rise out of him, he supposes, as he says, “I’m not going to fucking quit, if that’s what you’re expecting.”  

 

“We have two full weeks of practicing,” Flint says, nearly menacing. “That’s a week of me preparing you for competition, where you have to do what I say, no matter how tired you get, no matter how much blood, sweat, and _tears_  you put into your likely limited effort. I give you two _days_ before you decide to quit, because people like you don’t care what happens to others, and you likely have never stepped foot in whatever charity you claim to be here for.”  

 

Flint’s words are harsh, and Silver’s certainly heard worse, but something about it strikes him just enough that he’s retorting before he knows it. “You are truly amazing, you know that?” Silver throws back at him, and Flint blinks. “You don’t know me, but you think that I’m some rich asshole who’s going to what, kick out your knee by accident, for laughs?" 

 

“Aren’t you?" 

 

“I might want to after this _conversation_ ,” Silver snaps. “Might you consider that for one fucking moment that your distrust of me is completely unwarranted?”  

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  

 

“You think you know who I am - “ 

 

“ _You,” Flint_ enunciates, “Are indeed,  _some rich asshole_  who has been handed everything on a silver platter, who doesn’t even bother _trying_  hard enough so that he doesn’t look foolish and jeopardize the show.” 

 

That’s it. “Oh yeah?” Silver challenges. “How’s this for a fucking silver platter?” and he reaches down, pulls up his pant leg, so Flint can see that the limb underneath is metal.  

 

There’s a beat of silence, until Flint says, “Is that - “ 

 

“I don’t have a fucking leg, you asshole,” Silver spits at him. “So yeah, I’m not the best dancer here, but I think I’m trying pretty hard, so you can take your platter and _shove it up your ass_.”  

 

Flint keeps on looking at him, a confused line in his brow, but it’s not any comfort to Silver now. “Why didn’t you - “ 

 

“Why didn’t Featherstone tell you? Anyone? Because I keep it a fucking secret, and he wants to use it as some sick reveal most likely,” Silver tells him, letting his pant leg drop again and straightening up. “Well?”  

 

They’re both breathing heavily, and for one, single moment, Silver thinks he sees Flint’s angry eyes dip down to his mouth. He tilts his head up just a little more, as if it’s a natural response - and _what the fuck_ \- and then Flint’s taking a step back like he’s been burned. 

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Flint says, stiff, and he walks away. Silver stares after him, both exhausted and still so _furious_  he doesn’t know what to do.  

 

He’s starting to regret being on this show, to put it mildly.  

 

 

•••

 

 

“The contestants?” Flint repeats.

 

Charlotte has never met a man so recalcitrant to go on camera before, considering he performs for a living. She nods. “Just tell me about your general impressions.”

 

“They’re….” There’s a long pause, and Charlotte tries her best not to look at the clock across the studio as he finally says, “….here."

 

 

••• 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know very little about dancing but i think about these fools interacting a lot so I think it balances out

 

Flint is a _brutal_ instructor. 

 

They’re on camera most of the time, so as Flint directs him how to move and leads him through the choreography for the first dance they’re doing, Silver has to plaster on a fake smile and grit his way through the steps. There had been a moment at the start when Silver had suggested that perhaps he lead, and Flint had stared at him so stonily that the camera man had to excuse himself for a moment.  

 

But Silver’s not about to give him the satisfaction of being proven right if Silver quits, so he keeps on showing up, 

 

Silver thinks that Flint would make a drill instructor cry, at the intensity in which he applies himself. He’s good - not that Silver would think that a professional dancer would be _bad_ , but from the way the other dancers follow him with their eyes when he glides around the open studio on their break day (it’s technically optional, but all the contestants are heavily pressured into attending, or at least according to Flint),  dragging Silver with him, he realizes that Flint is _really good._

He’s not sure whether he’s glad Flint is living up to his promise or not. When people find out about his prosthetic, they tend to either revert to asking invasive questions or tread with entirely too much sensitivity for either of their comfort. Flint does neither, instead just brusquely leading Silver back and forth like he’s forgotten that Silver revealed his disability to him in the first place, physically moving Silver’s hands to correct positions as he teaches him the steps.  

 

Which Silver knows he hasn’t forgotten, because while Flint critiques his frame and head position and the drag of his foot, he doesn’t mention it when Silver sometimes kicks the inside of Flint’s calf without realizing, give the lack of sensitivity with the prosthetic. Ever since that incident in the hallway, Flint’s not warmed up to him, but he’s not insulted Silver, either.  

 

The one bright spot in all of this, is that while Silver’s too distracted trying to learn all of this and psychoanalyze Flint at the same time, that most of the time, he forgets about the fact that Flint is sweating right there in front of him, hands firm on Silver’s hips as they sway together, the feeling of Flint’s hand sliding up his arm. Because Flint might be an asshole, but he’s still an attractive asshole - and Silver would like to have some words with whoever assigned them to perform a _tango_  as their first dance. 

 

He’s apparently too distracted to dance properly, too. During the middle of their third day, Flint cuts off their practice sharply when Silver stumbles on a step in the middle of their tango. 

 

“Enough,” he orders, and waves away the camera that’s right next to their faces with no shame. “We need fifteen minutes.” 

 

“We’re already behind on footage - “ 

 

“Twenty minutes now,” Flint says, looking right in the camera man’s eyes. 

 

The cameraman walks out of the room without any more complaint, which is probably good, since Flint looks like he’s the sort to smash a camera on the ground if they get too close. Silver says, “I’m fine - “ 

 

“You’re limping,” Flint points out. “Take a break.”  

 

That anger rises once again in him. “You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves like I’m some crippled - “  

 

“I’m not going to risk my partner’s safety,” Flint throws right back. “There are ice packs in the corner.” 

 

Silver’s leg was, in fact, bothering him, so he swallows his pride and goes over to the freezer. “Get me one, too,” Flint orders, getting his water bottle. 

 

Silver opens the cooler. “You want to join in on the fun?”  

 

“I have a stiff shoulder,” Flint says.  

 

“Heat’s better for that.” Silver retrieves two, either way. “An old injury?” 

 

“Something like that,” Flint answers, catching the ice pack he lobs in his direction. He’s only a little bit disappointed that it doesn’t smack Flint right in the middle of his face, as Flint puts the ice pack right over his shoulder.  

 

Since he figures he has nothing to lose, Silver goes over to the side, plopping down so he can remove his leg. He hasn’t done it in front of anyone except for Max, so in order to keep his nerves from breaking, Silver asks as he starts to slide it off, “How long have you been a dancer?”  

 

“Thirty-five years,” Flint says. Silver must frown, doing the mental calculation, for Flint adds. “I started young. Professionally, it was twenty years before I retired, apparently, to teach useless celebrities." 

 

“That’s a long time,” Silver says in reply, because he didn’t expect that Flint would actually answer his question. He finishes getting his leg off. “Even if you started at some much too young age, I mean.”  

 

“My grandfather raised me, and he wanted me to join the Navy like my father,” Flint says, as Silver puts the ice pack under his aching knee. “My whole family was in the military. I left to join a troupe as soon as I could.” 

 

“Let me guess, you had a Footloose situation?” 

 

“If that means he didn’t like my choice, then yes,” Flint says. “But I kept in touch with a fair number of them, even now. I know a fair number of vets who have prosthetics.”  

 

Silver adjusts the cushions on the inside of the leg. He had it fitted specifically for dancing, and while he’ll admit that it means his mobility just makes his foot look just a little bit more stiff rather than scream _one footed man dancing here,_  it’s still newer than the one he wears around home so he’s getting used to it. “So you think you know everything about amputees, then?”  

 

“No,” Flint says, “But I suppose you’ll tell me everything I’ll need to know to accommodate for you.”  

 

That catches him off guard. “Lesson number one,” Silver tells him, “When you say you’ll  _accommodate_ for me, that doesn’t sound very good to me, yeah?”  

 

Flint nods, setting his ice pack down. “All right.”  

 

“Second, why are you doing this?” Silver puts his prosthetic back on so he doesn’t have to look at Flint. “You said it yourself. You’ve very clearly expressed your disbelief that I’ll commit to this, as well as my professional and personal capability.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Flint says, and Silver glances up at him. “I didn’t know. That’s no excuse - “ 

 

“That’s right.” 

 

“ - but I realize now that I was misinformed, and I judged you without realizing the entire situation,” Flint tells him. “I won’t go easy on you, but I don’t go easy on anyone. You can ask anyone at the studio I work at. I want to know what I can do to help, because I was incorrect about my assumptions about you. I only hope that you can give me another chance, and if you’ll have me, you will be my partner still." 

 

“Did you recite that in the mirror, then?”  

 

“Silver,” Flint says, but he doesn’t say anything else.  

 

Silver studies him. Flint’s face looks as open as he can judge, but since apparently, Flint can surprise him, after all, Silver says, “It’s called a transtibial prosthesis. It’s all below my knee.” 

 

Flint doesn’t say anything, as Silver pulls up his pant leg once more, keeping his tone informative. “My leg goes into the socket,” he tells him, “And this is the attachment part, and then there’s the foot. I have what’s called a single axis one that I use at home since it’s easier on my knee, but the one here is bionic, so I get better control where my ankle would be - that’s called multi-axial - but I’m not as used to it.”  

 

“Will you get used to it?” Flint ask, and his eyes are sharp when they go from Silver’s leg right back to his face.  

 

“Maybe,” Silver says. “I’ve only had it for a few weeks.”  

 

“A few weeks?” 

 

“I was in a bad place, for a while,” and Silver cannot _believe_  he is willingly having this conversation right now, amid the bright lights of the dancing studio. “I lost my first one in a dumpster.”  

 

Flint snorts. “You’re having me on.”  

 

“I’m serious.”  

 

“Aren’t these expensive?”  

 

“They definitely are. My prosthetist wanted to murder me." 

 

“I take it back, you _are_ a rich asshole,” Flint says, but then he holds out his hand.  

 

After a moment, Silver takes it, and he pulls him up.  

 

 

••• 

 

 

“ _Feel_  the rhythm,” Flint orders, “One, two, one, two - no, stop, _stop_. Do you even know what a rhythm is?”  

 

Silver feels like his lungs are on fire as Flint pushed his shoulders back until he’s upright once again. He tries to defend himself, “I know - “ 

 

“Then show me,” Flint says, and he puts Silver’s hand back on his shoulder, his own going to Silver’s waist. “And for God’s sake, quit dragging your toes so much. You’re shifting your weight, not putting your entire balance on that one point - “  

 

“Fuck,” Silver swears when he messes up the step. “Is it back on the step, or - ?”  

 

“Watch me,” Flint says, and he takes a step back, his arms still upright like Silver’s right there in front of them, and does the transition. 

 

“It looks the same,” Silver tells him. It’s day ten, and he feels like he might die if he has to learn another step. “It all looks the _goddamn same_.”  

 

“Watch closer,” Flint orders again, and on the next repetition, he does some movement that Silver instinctively knows he will never be able to replicate. “Did you see it?”  

 

_All I see is your hips moving with a rather unfair amount of fluidity_. “No.”  

 

“All right,” Flint says, studying him, and then he approaches Silver. Silver holds incredibly still as Flint goes around, comes up behind him. They’ve danced like this before, of course, but without any music, Silver is incredibly aware of Flint’s breath on the back of his neck, the small sounds he makes when he adjusts Silver’s posture for him. “Show me the steps.”  

 

With Flint’s hands on him, Silver tries. He sucks in a sharp breath when in the middle of a step, Flint’s hand squeezes his hip, through his shirt. “From this side. You’re keeping too much tension here. As you step to the side, your hip tilts down.”  

 

“Okay,” Silver says, as Flint taps his hipbone, then repeats the movement. In the mirror, Silver watches as Flint’s feet go back, and he mimics the movement. “Like - “ 

 

He does it again, and Flint makes an approving noise. “Your shoulders and hips should be connected,” he says, and he glances up to meet Silver’s eyes in the mirror. “If you keep them apart, the movement will look jerky. Since we’re keeping the focus on the movements of your shoulders, especially, with the choreography, you need to master that first.”  

 

Flint puts a hand on the side of Silver’s neck, then. “When I press down, you move it just a little to the side,” he says, and Silver practices it, feels Flint’s fingers curl into the area right under his jaw to prevent him from moving that part too much. Silver’s sweating through his shirt, but feels a shiver go through him as Flint says, “There it is - “  

 

They dance like that, Silver remembering the steps as best as he can without a partner right there in front of him, as Flint guides him from behind. Flint had insisted that they need to learn the steps before he plays any music, and so soon, the room is only filled with the heavy breathing that Silver thinks is only coming from him, until Flint exhales as Silver accidentally rolls his right hip too much out.  

 

“Better,” Flint says when they’ve finished one set, leaving his hands on Silver though like he’s about to make Silver do it again. “Better than I expected.”  

 

Silver can feel one of his eyebrows raise. “Is that a _compliment_?”  

 

“Absolutely not,” Flint says. “There’s no room for ego in this dance.” 

 

Silver turns his head to the side to look at him, and Flint’s much closer than he realizes. This close, he realizes that Flint’s eyes have the tiniest bit of gray around them, that they’re not entirely green. “There’s always room,” he starts, then stops.  

 

Flint’s eyes seem to roam over his face for a moment. For some reason, Silver thinks that he’s about to kiss him - but then he takes a step forward and away, before anything can happen, before he can do something he's going to regret - and Flint’s hands fall from him.  

 

Silver can still feel the warmth of Flint’s hands on him as Flint turns to get his water bottle. They dance face to face for the rest of the session, until Vane and Idelle come for their practice time.  

 

Considering that Flint usually spends at least ten minutes making Silver repeat back to him his nutritional plan, his workout for next morning, and also everything that he’s learned in today’s session, the man disappears before Silver finishes getting changed back into street clothes. 

 

Outside the studio, some paparazzi has snuck right outside. As Silver steps out, some of the camera flash right in his face, making the black spots appear in the middle of his vision. One of them shouts, “John! How are you holding up during the training sessions - “

 

“No, you misunderstand, I’m just doing this for the free parking,” Silver tells them, grinning with all his teeth, until he makes it back to his car, and with the safety of the tinted windows, lets his head rest on the steering wheel.  

 

 

••• 

 

 

On the tenth day, they manage to get through the entire tango choreography without Silver fucking it up. It’s the closest that Silver has seen Flint come to smiling yet as he says, “Not terrible.”  

 

They finally do it to music, some number that makes Silver feel like moving without thinking, for a moment, as Flint spins him out. From the approval in Flint’s eyes during their next break, he thinks that they might be getting somewhere. 

 

He thinks he slowly might be getting to know Flint, too. When they take breaks, they slowly stop exchanging barbs, and tell each other about themselves, out of sight of the camera. Silver learns that Flint dances because it gives him a sense of freedom that he can’t find another way to replicate, and Silver tells him about how he met Max, and how she’s the closest thing he has to family.  

 

He thinks he might just about know more about Flint than anyone else there. That is, until he enters Flint’s dressing room two days later, and he’s met with an unexpected sight. 

 

“Oh my god,” Silver says, as Thomas and Flint spring apart. “This explains so much.” 

 

“It’s not what it looks like,” Flint says hurriedly. His shirt is rucked up around his abdomen, and he tugs it down, but he can’t cover the incriminating blush. “This - “  

 

“Silver,” Thomas says pleasantly, like he hadn’t just had his mouth on Flint’s, as he starts to button up his shirt right there in front of them like this is to be entirely expected. “Did you just come from the gym? I was about to go there myself.”  

 

“Um,” Silver says.  

 

Flint slowly gets down from where he was sitting on the table. “Wait a moment - what do you mean, _this explains so much_?”  

 

“I mean, your - everything,” Silver says, looking at him and waving his hand. “Secret romance? It’s another piece of the puzzle. And you - “ He points right at Thomas. “Actually - weren’t you married to some woman?”  

 

“I was married to _a_ woman, yes,” Thomas says, “And then I wasn’t, for rather obvious reasons. But I could’ve been bisexual, you know.”  

 

“Thomas, this isn’t really the time - “  

 

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Silver says, then he adds, “I just thought I would’ve figured it out before seeing _this,_ though.”  

 

“Silver, you can’t tell anyone,” Flint says, and although his voice is sure, there’s something that flickers in his eyes. “Thomas isn’t out - “ 

 

“If you’re assuming that I’m some monster who outs people, then I’m going to be very offended,” Silver tells him curtly. “Thomas - I fully support your choice in sexual partner, even if it is this man who is causing my joints no small amount of agony every day.”  

 

“I’m right here, you know - “  

 

“I stand by it. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m the very picture of tact and privacy." 

 

“Thank you,” Thomas says, and there’s no small amount of gratitude in the words as he holds Silver’s gaze. “John. You’re a good man.”  

 

Silver coughs. “Yes. Well. I was just coming in to ask, is practice at eight or nine tomorrow morning?”  

 

“Eight, but you should be here by seven,” Flint says. “Silver - “ 

 

“Great,” Silver says. “Don’t go breaking any tables.”  

 

He’s still feeling very amused as he leaves, only as soon as he exits the training building, he looks up from mid-thought, and he sees Madi right there, standing in front of her car. 

 

If this were ten months ago, maybe he’d be more struck by the tight turquoise tank top she’s wearing, the flush on her face that reminds him of when she woke him up after getting back from an early morning run, but he’s too stunned now. His good mood evaporates, and it's replaced with that pained stretch in his stomach whenever he thinks about her for too long - but at the same time, it’s mixed with that same sort of awe whenever he sees her, like there’s a piece of him that slides back into place. 

 

Silver finds that all of the time he’s spent missing her crashes right back into him, like no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, it’s now all coming back at this moment under her steady gaze. “John,” Madi says, and after a moment, she shifts the tote bag on her shoulder. “I feel as though you have been avoiding me.” 

 

 “Madi,” Silver says, then clears his throat, unsure of himself like he’s meeting her for the first time all over again. “I - it has.”  

 

“Can we talk?” Madi asks suddenly, then glances around. “Of course, if you’re headed back - “  

 

“Yeah,” Silver says quickly before he can think better of it. “Please - yeah.”  

 

 

••• 

 

They both somehow manage to silently agree not to talk much about their training sessions, since they are competitors, nor about the past few months. Madi asks that Silver accompany her to a nearby coffee shop, to which she drives. They manage to avoid catching the trial of any paparazzi, but Silver puts on sunglasses just in case, and Madi wears a large-brimmed hat to boot.  

“I didn’t know you were a participant,” Madi tells him over coffee, when they’ve found a back table that hides them from any prying eyes. “I would have contacted you had I known.”  

 

_Contacted_. Like they’re two business owners staking their claims in something. “I didn’t either,” Silver says, looking down at the saucer in front of him. “About you, I mean.”  

 

“You’re working with Flint, right?” Madi asks to break the silence stretches out when it’s clear that they both don’t know what to talk about, like they’re walking into a minefield. Or at least that’s how Silver feels, as Madi lifts her cup and takes a small sip, and wrinkles her nose when a little of the cinnamon gets on her upper lip. Silver falls a little more in love with her.  

 

“Yeah,” Silver says, “He’s… intense. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone able to argue so passionately about _anything_.” 

 

Madi smiles a little at that. “Miranda is the same way. Did you know that they know each other? They’re good friends.”  

 

“Really?” This, this feels like safer ground. Silver shifts on his seat. “I assumed that they ran in the same circle, to say, but he’s never brought her up.”  

 

“She was married to a close friend of his,” Madi says, and she stops like she’s said too much. 

 

_Close friend_. Silver puts the pieces together. “Ah. Uh.” 

 

She must read it on his face - she knows him too well, even after everything -  for then Madi glances around before leaning in. Silver’s stuck once again until she whispers, nearly too quiet to hear, “Do you know about… them?”  

 

“Oh my god,” Silver hisses, forgetting his anxiety as he sets down his cup with a muffled clatter. “You know too? Thomas -  “ 

 

“And Flint, _yes_ ,” Madi says, and they must look like two old gossips as Silver leans in to meet her closer over the middle of the table. “I thought that there was no one in the studio that late at night - “ 

 

“Dressing room,” Silver tells her, “And Flint was _blushing_.”  

 

“ _You_ walked in on them too?”   

 

“Now that I know, they’re the absolute least subtle people I have ever met,” Silver tells her. “I thought -  I thought only _I_ knew - “ 

 

“Us,” Madi says, “And Miranda.”  

 

“You must be close to her,” Silver says, leaning back. 

 

Something flickers over Madi’s face. “Yes,” she says. “We are.”  

 

When they head out, there are some paparazzi who have staked out right outside. Silver puts an arm around her back to lead them back to her car, and they get in with only a few camera flashes going off. 

 

Madi drives him back to the studio where he’s parked. She lets the car idle for a moment, and Silver pauses with his hand on the door handle.  

 

But before he can say anything, he’s caught by her yet again when Madi smiles, hesitantly but bigger than before. “This is nice,” she says, fiddling a little with the keyring. “I know - what happened to us - “ 

 

“We don’t need to talk about it,” Silver says, and he’s brave enough, or maybe just reckless, to keep looking in her eyes. “But it is.”  

 

“We should do this more,” Madi says, and he realizes it’s an offer when she trails off.  

 

“Yeah,” Silver says, and he means it. “Yeah, we should.”  

 

 

•••

 

 

The night before the first competition, surprisingly, it’s not Silver who’s a wreck.  

 

Flint’s more snappish than usual, pushing Silver as they practice their routine. Earlier in the day, the costume head had come in with the outfits that Flint had ordered for them - Silver had only gotten to try on pieces at a time, but it was a lot of dark grey, filmy fabric, that he hopes looks good in the end. Although Flint had made displeased noises and used words like _structural integrity_  and  _not the right flow_  that had made the costumer, quite frankly, look like she’s about to burn her creations, as Silver resigned himself to an attempt at a placating smile at the woman behind Flint’s back.  

 

(Another part of costume day has meant that Silver’s now seen Flint shirtless, and now he knew that Flint had both many more freckles all over his biceps and torso and a small tattoo of a moon on his arm, well, he didn’t know what to do with those bits of new information.) 

 

It’s when Flint finally explodes at a cameraman who got to close, nearly knocking into their clasped hands in the middle of the routine, that Silver knows he has to step in. He gives the cameraman a significant look, before turning to Flint, who just glares at a point on the wall behind him.  

 

The first competition isn’t a live event, Silver supposes, to take some of the pressure off the contestants. Featherstone had made some noises about it being a _daring_  way to show the show, too, whatever that means, as a multi-night event. Most of the episodes will be edited and airing in about a month, broadcast over a few days, until finally, the finale, with the two non-eliminated teams, which will be filmed live.  

 

Once they’re alone, watching Flint stretch his leg on one of the bars on the wall, Silver says, “Uh - you don’t have stage fright, do you?”  

“Stage fright - just what exactly do you think I did for twenty years?” 

 

“Make Marines cry?”  

 

“I was the principal dancer for ten years, so do you really believe I have stage fright? _”_ Flint lifts his head from where it was resting on his knee. "Well?"

 

_“_ Right now, you kind of look like I did after my first night in the police drunk tank,” Silver tells him, “And I thought that there were sharks coming in through the windows to get me, thanks to some tainted absinthe. So either you’re naturally concerned for tomorrow, or we need to talk about your issues now.” 

 

“For your information, I had an argument with Thomas,” Flint says stiffly. “It’s been affecting me today, but it will go away by tomorrow.”  

 

“Oh,” Silver says. “Uh - I’m sorry. Breakups are tough.”  

 

“We’re still _together_ ,” Flint says, and he frowns more at Silver. “It was just an argument.”  

 

“How about we don’t talk about this,” Silver says, “And you go back to shouting at my dragging toes?”  

 

He thinks he hears Flint grumble something like _You’re the one who asked_ , but then he takes Silver’s hands, and they start again.  

 

 

••• 

 

 

“Thomas told me that you and Madi dated at one point,” Flint says suddenly, once they’ve concluded their session. Silver glances around, but they’re alone, save for some PA who’s trying to scrub some mysterious stain out of the floorboards in the far corner, and she’s out of earshot. “Is that true?” 

 

“Yes,” Silver says, “It is. Why do you ask?”  

 

“I saw some tabloid,” Flint says, nearly looking hesitant about it. “You two were photographed in some cafe the other day.”  

 

Silver tamps down the urge to laugh. “You can’t trust the tabloids,” he says, taking a long drink of water before continuing, “I’m so used to them - I forgot that you might not have had experience with seeing your face splashed out on the front of them." 

 

“So you weren’t?”  

 

“I did have coffee with her, yes,” Silver says. “Let me guess - the tabloid said that we were talking about how I cheated on her? Or, no, how she stole my money and I divorced her right after our secret marriage?”  

 

“They said,” Flint starts, then stops. “They said that she was your beard. They - they must have gotten photographs of you and I, leaving the grounds one evening - " 

 

“Hang on,” Silver says, “Are you worried because you think I’d be scared of some gay rumors? Come on, I took back my homophobe accusation now, didn’t I?" 

 

“I don’t know the nature of your relationship with her, and I don’t mean to press,” Flint says, “But I find the… scrutiny, that often follows such reports, can cause strain on relationships. I'm out to the press, and when they saw you with me - well - ” 

 

Silver looks down at the water bottle in his hands. “Madi and I aren’t dating,” Silver says, “Not anymore. And I could care a lot less what  _the press_ thinks they know about my life, for your information." 

 

“Oh,” Flint says, simply. As Silver measures the words on his tongue, Flint says, “It can be… tough. Being in love with someone, and not being able to express it.” 

 

He looks up at that. “Does Thomas not - “ 

 

“No,” Flint corrects in a hurry, looking frustrated before his face smooths out again. “Thomas and I, we’ve been together for many years now. We love each other. What I meant to say, is that I was in love with him before we were together. I hid it, because I didn’t think it was worth either of us hiding. But from having lived through that - I know what it’s like, to love from afar.” 

 

Silver considers saying that he doesn't love her, but really, he's lied enough in his life. He’s struck by the realization that Flint might be able to see into him, more than anyone he’s met in a long time, and if _that_  isn’t something that he seriously wants to work through - but can’t, not now. 

 

So Silver settles on saying, “You didn’t like it when we were paired up.” 

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

He remembers Flint’s glare from that day - and God, it wasn’t even two weeks ago. “When the teams were announced. You thought you were going to be paired up with Thomas, didn’t you?" 

 

“It was a possibility,” Flint says.  

 

“Hold on - was _that_  the cause of your argument?”  

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Flint says, and although he looks pained to get into it with Silver, he explains, "Thomas was offered a spot on the show because one of the producers is a donor to his organization, and it would have been rude for him to refuse. Since I was already signed to a contract, we thought that we would embrace that possibility - of coming out, maybe. But when it didn’t work out - we realized that it might’ve been more difficult to do it that way. In some ways, it’s better this way.”  

 

“Oh?” Silver is genuinely curious, and he prompts, “But in that moment, you resented me?”  

 

Flint looks at him, enough so that Silver feels he should look away, but he doesn’t. “I made assumptions about you from the first time we met,” he says, finally. “It was unfair of me.” 

 

“Now, hang on, I don’t want to sit through another wordy apology,” Silver says. “We’re good, all right?”  

 

“Yeah,” Flint says, looking at him, and Silver finally steps away to put on his new dance shoes, mostly broken in at this point. “We’re good.”  

 

It’s only much later that Silver realizes that Flint never answered his question about the argument with Thomas. Whatever it was, though, it’s not like Silver could do anything about it. Flint might open up to him sometimes, but the rest of the time, Silver thinks it’s like prying away a brick wall, one pebble at a time.  

 

 

•••

 

 

The night of first competition arrives. They’re all ushered into a green room before they’re allowed out, crammed into the place along with the other teams. Their costumes show a bit more skin than Silver’s strictly comfortable with but it also entirely covers his legs, so he can’t complain. 

 

Across the room, Silver sees Madi, who’s dressed in a dark blue beaded dress that matches her partner’s in color- but Miranda’s dress is of a simpler material that flows out by her ankles. She lifts a hand in greeting to Silver, who returns the gesture.  

 

On the other side, Eleanor and Jack are in tight black trousers and vests, and small bowler hats. Vane and Idelle are clad in strips of fiery orange, red, and yellow fabric, while Thomas and Anne seem to have selected more simple outfits of pale green, the lapels of Thomas’s suit jacket matching the straps on Anne’s long sleeves. 

 

Silver watches as Flint goes over to them, exchanging a few words with Anne and none with Thomas, but then he sees the edge of Flint’s finger run along Thomas’s arm - an accidental touch to any other observer, but Silver can also see the way Thomas blinks just one too many times as Flint comes back to wait with Silver. 

 

There’s a large flatscreen on one side that the teams can watch the taping audience and the performers. For the first competition, they’re all dancing, and ranked in order to eliminate the bottom team. Silver watches as Featherstone’s floating head explains that the four remaining teams will then compete directly against each other, one team being eliminated each round. 

 

They’re also shown the judges for the very first time. Charlotte is there interviewing the two women and the man on the end. Silver doesn’t catch their names, instead watching across the room as Vane opens a bottle of champagne - competition be damned, apparently - and pours both him and Idelle a glass each, which they both drain. 

 

He doesn’t realize his leg is jiggling up and down until, without a word, Flint puts his heavy hand on Silver’s knee. “Just don’t vomit when we’re on the floor,” he says unhelpfully, and Silver glares at him.  

 

They draw lots to see who goes first. It’s Vane and Idelle, who take to the stage with matching smirks. 

 

Featherstone announces that they’ll be doing a quickstep, and then they take off. As Silver watches them move rapidly across the floor, Vane swinging Idelle as they go up and down, Flint leans over. “Unoriginal footwork,” he says right into Silver’s ear, tensing his hand ever so slightly on Silver’s kneecap. “Idelle’s doing decently, but Vane is much too stiff.”  

 

“They look pretty good to me.”  

 

“You don’t know any better,” Flint says, but before Silver can shove his hand off, he adds, “But _we_ can certainly do better than that.” 

 

Silver lets him keep his hand on his leg.  

 

Vane and Idelle finish, and while the judges hold off on an actual score, they say things that echo Flint’s comments. Silver won’t give Flint the satisfaction of an audience to him being proven right, so instead, he looks across the room, where Madi is helping adjust Miranda’s hair before they go out as the next contestants.  

 

Silver feels Flint’s eyes on the side of his, and he looks over. Flint asks, “Do you want to watch?”  

 

Silver’s about to answer _Why wouldn’t I_? but Flint's watching him carefully, like - like he's worried about him. Silver turns back to the screen. “I’ll be fine,” he says shortly, as Featherstone announces their salsa.  

 

When Madi and Miranda take the floor, it’s an entirely different performance in terms of - well, everything.  From the moment the music swells, the audience already sounds much more animated, cheering when Miranda leads Madi to slide on the ground, going between her legs before hoisting her up before they spin around and around.  

 

“I’m guessing from your lack of critique, they’re really good,” Silver says, not particularly feeling the urge to tear his eyes away from the screen as the light catches Madi's dress just right, and she's transformed into a blur of shimmering color as she and Miranda press close together. 

 

From beside him, Flint eventually says, “Miranda’s usually more of a risk taker - “ but he cuts off when Miranda is now the one with her back arched as Madi dips her dangerously close to the ground, finishing the dance with the dramatic pose. 

 

“Hey,” Silver says, “We’re not going to try that, are we?”  

 

“We will if we want to win against them,” Flint tells him.  

 

 

•••

 

 

Then it’s their turn, and as they’re being ushered out onto the floor, Silver wonders for a moment if he’s about to do something truly regrettable.  

 

He turns to Flint as if to say something - maybe something like, _Leave me here before you ruin your credibility -_ but Flint just looks at him, his eyes glinting despite the dimmed colorful lights overhead.  

 

“Breathe,” he says. “We’ve got this.” 

 

Silver inhales, holds it, and exhales. Flint gives him the tiniest nod, as Silver tightens his grip ever so slightly on Flint’s shoulder. 

 

The music starts, and then they’re dancing. 

 

 

•••


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally more!! some good, then bad stuff, like usual

Flint manages to get the raw footage of them dancing after the performance to review. Or rather, he makes Silver sit on the futon couch in the corner of his dressing room, where Silver can enjoy the sensation of the metal frame poking his thigh as Flint proceeds to criticize every movement they made. 

 

 

At one point, Silver tries, "I mean, it's not ideal, but I thought we did all right - " 

 

 

That garners pausing the video, and a sharp glare to boot. “We came in fourth place,” Flint says, “Which is far from _ideal_."

 

 

“We weren’t eliminated,” Silver points out. That particular honor had gone to Eleanor and Jack, the latter of whom loudly accused the judges of being biased against the Charleston they performed.

 

 

And _really_ , Silver wasn’t anymore near as critical as Flint, but Eleanor _had_ tripped and fallen mid-performance over Jack’s discarded bowler hat. After which Jack tried suggesting that it was a rigged competition given the "slippery texture of the tile".

 

 

Eleanor hadn't been much better once they heard the results - Featherstone’s really going to have to be creative with the mouth-blurs and the censors before they air it. He's lucky Flint doesn't have a thing for hats. 

 

 

Flint just gives him a look in response, like he’s disappointed that Silver would say that to him. Silver clears his throat. “We could have done better.” 

 

 

“Yes,” Flint says. He hits play again. 

 

 

They watch for a bit, and then Silver has to ask, “How many times are we going to watch this?” 

 

 

Flint pauses the video. “There,” he says, pointing at Silver’s figure in the middle of the screen. “Do you see your posture there?”

 

 

It is, he’ll admit, a little crooked-looking, stiff compared to the line of Flint’s back across from him. “It’s wrong?” 

 

 

“It certainly is,” Flint informs him. “We’re going to incorporate yoga into your exercise schedule starting tomorrow, build up your core strength - " 

 

 

“Only if you join me.” As he says it, he regrets it, because now he has the image of Flint being able to put his legs behind his head, and Silver absolutely cannot be thinking these sorts of thoughts, even as his mouth continues, "Tell me it's the sweaty kind."

 

 

Flint just scoffs. "I go every morning. It's relaxing," he says, with an entirely too casual turn of his shoulders as he hits play. 

 

 

Silver stares right at him. “I know you’re messing with me, and I want you to know that I know.” 

 

 

He's rewarded by the corner of Flint's mouth twitching, as they turn back to the screen. 

 

 

The video also has the judges’ running commentary in the background. So when they both watch on screen as Flint draws Silver up from the ground, as Silver’s hands had slid down his biceps before clasping their hands together once again, they can hear quite clearly one of the judges mutter - “Technically sloppy… but the passion, the passion’s there - “ 

 

 

Silver clears his throat as they watch Flint spin Silver around, drawing him close as he leads him back. On the screen, Silver isn't entirely - graceful, but it's something, watching himself smoothly drag the inside of his foot up Flint’s inseam as close as it could be. He remembers the feeling, the grip of Flint's broad hands on him, his own on Flint's shoulders.

 

 

As they watch Flint's face tucked into Silver's neck nearly, as they glide across the floor, Silver asks, “Aren’t you going to critique yourself at all?”

 

 

“I am,” Flint says, his eyes glued to the screen.

 

 

"And?"

 

 

“I don’t care to share with you." 

 

 

"This is an unfair team up. I thought we were supposed to collaborate." 

 

 

"Get twenty years of professional dance under your belt, and then we'll talk about collaboration." 

 

 

The next dance is in a week, which gives Silver shockingly little time to learn the new choreography. But as Flint assures him, they’ll be more than ready the next time.

 

 

“Now I know how the judges think,” Flint says when he deems they’re done, closing his laptop, “And I know how to play that.” 

 

 

“You don’t, I don’t know, just believe we should try our best? Put our hearts and souls into it?”

 

 

“We’re here to win, Silver,” Flint says, and he shakes his head at him, and this time it’s definitely mocking. “Or have you forgotten?” 

 

 

“I cannot believe Thomas is willingly sleeping with you,” Silver tells him, and Flint laughs.

 

 

Silver’s nearly startled by the loud sound coming from him, as Flint looks faintly surprised himself, before catching himself. 

 

 

“Yoga,” Flint says, nearly like he's reminding himself. “I’ll sign you up for the 3 pm -  "

 

 

"What about - " 

 

 

"We'll start early, and go later after," Flint tells him. Then, nearly -  _shyly_ \- he adds, "You've improved. It's going to be an uphill battle, but you have."

 

 

"Are you complimenting me," Silver says. "Hang on, I don't know how to compute this?"

 

 

"You're a shit," Flint tells him, but it sounds less and less heated each time he tells Silver such. 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

He runs into Thomas that afternoon, as he’s heading out of his first yoga session. 

 

 

“Hello, fellow competitor,” Silver says, as Thomas salutes him. “Headed into the battle as well?”

 

 

“Ah, yes,” Thomas says, as he takes in the sweatband pulled ridiculously low on Silver's brow, the brightly colored clothing that Silver prefers for exercise - because Flint can roll his eyes all he wants at Silver's choice in clothing, but he can't actually tell him there's a reason he can't wear neon teal. “That's quite an... outfit. How was your instructor?"

 

 

“I didn’t know he could teach yoga.” His thighs and abs are still burning, and he hadn’t even been allowed to use one of those big bouncy balls in anything, either - which has pretty much ruined yoga for him, to be honest. "I thought it was a rare glimpse of his humor." 

 

 

“James took it up to help manage his anger a few years back,” Thomas says. “He finds it calming.” 

 

 

“You mean he was _worse_?” 

 

 

“Oh, certainly,” Thomas says, with way too much cheer for someone discussing his partner's temper issues. “He had to go to court-mandated therapy after smashing someone’s car.” 

 

 

“ _He smashed someone’s car_?” 

 

 

“With a baseball bat. Very dramatic, but served its purpose, I suppose.” 

 

 

“I have to ask,” Silver says, “Should I be worried for you?” 

 

 

“I asked him to do it,” Thomas says, and Silver can't stop the surprised wheeze escaping from his throat, “Not my proudest moment, I’ll admit, but it was also my father’s car, so - “ 

 

 

“There you are,” Flint says, interrupting Silver’s very important question as a follow up to _that_  story - “Silver, are you chatting with the enemy?”

 

 

“I’m just telling him all the blackmail I have on you,” Thomas says with a  grin, as Flint takes a look around. 

 

 

“You better not,” Flint says, his face fond and open as Silver has ever seen it. Once he looks satisfied they’re alone, except for Silver, he leans up and presses a kiss to Thomas’s mouth. Silver watches Thomas’s eyes close, a pleased look on his face, and he forces himself to look down at the small stain near the strap on his bag. 

 

 

He has to call Max, too, doesn’t he? Silver makes a mental note to do so, even as he can hear Thomas murmur something too low for him to catch, before kissing him once more and releasing him. 

 

 

Flint turns to Silver, then. “I thought you were meeting Madi?” 

 

 

“She had to cancel, something about an emergency practice,” Silver says. 

 

 

“You could - “

 

 

“Before you ask, I’m not going to an extra yoga session,” Silver tells him. "I have to go home, take off my foot and ice the rest of my body, thanks.” 

 

 

Thomas frowns. “What was that?”

 

 

“I have a prosthetic leg,” Silver tells him, just as Flint says, “He’s kidding - “ 

 

 

There’s a beat. In the silence that stretches out, Silver says, “I have a prosthetic leg.” 

 

 

“I’m sorry,” Flint says instantly, “I didn’t know if you wanted him - uh - “

 

 

“No, I understand,” Thomas says, and he looks visibly surprised, before visibly tamping it down - which Silver appreciates the intent, at least. “I don’t mean to be offensive, but you - hide it well.” 

 

 

“Not used to thinking about a one-legged man dance, Hamilton?” 

 

 

Thomas lets out a surprised laugh. “It explains those horrible flared pants you wore for the last show,” he throws right back, and Silver grins. “Well, I’ve got to get into practice - I’ll see you at home, darling.” 

 

 

He and Flint kiss again, and then both Flint and Silver watch him enter the barre studio.

 

 

“I didn’t know you two were close,” Flint remarks once the doors close. 

 

 

“Jealous?” Silver tosses at him before he can stop himself. 

 

 

Flint just snorts, though. “Be there early for practice,” he says, and they part ways. 

 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

“ - since reading should be a fundamental part of every childhood, and it’s important to keep libraries accessible and open to all,” Madi tells Charlotte. “The Scott Foundation has been able to raise over two million dollars to support public programs and helping local charities, giving all children a place where they are safe and their curiosity is encouraged.” 

 

 

“A worthy cause,” Charlotte says. “Now, can you tell me what you thought when you first met your dance partner for  _Everyone, Dance!_?” 

 

 

“Miranda has been a wonderful partner,” Madi says, and if she was animated when talking about the foundation before, now, well, she’s glowing. “She’s incredible at what she does, and what’s more, she’s also been a longtime supporter of the arts. Even out of the studio, we have so much to talk about - " 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

Silver’s heading out his dressing room the next day before practice when he’s confronted by Miranda. She stands right in front of him, not budging an inch even as he's startled himself. 

 

 

“Um,” Silver says, glancing to either side as she stares right at him. “Hello?”

 

 

“John Silver,” Miranda says, crossing her arms over a pale unitard. “I have a guess that you might be an intelligent man.”

 

 

“I’d like to think so, yes.”  He accidentally lets his bag slide off his shoulder when Miranda continues to not move out of the way. “Was there something you needed, or - ?” 

 

 

“Then you should know that you shouldn’t lie to me.”

 

 

“I don’t think we’ve ever exchanged this many words, so how exactly did I lie to you?”

 

 

“Not before,” Miranda says, and there’s a sharp look in her eyes that rather reminds Silver of when Flint’s about to lead him in a brutal training session and Silver’s just complained about the warmups. “I want you to answer a few questions. I will not appreciate it if you lie to me, Mr. Silver.” 

 

 

Silver blinks. “If this is about Flint - “

 

 

“It’s about Madi,” Miranda says, and her eyes narrow. “Why would it be about Flint?” 

 

 

Rather than risk lying to her - he’s not about to take any chances - Silver says instead, “What do you mean, about Madi?” 

 

 

Miranda looks vaguely amused by this. She says, “Madi told me you two were together at one point. I suppose I’m trying to figure out where you fit into her history.” 

 

 

The word _history_ stings, prickling at him and leaving a rather bad taste in his mouth at the same time. “This seems to be a popular conversation to have with me, and one I’m not particularly fond about,” Silver says evenly. “We dated. We broke up. It happens.” 

 

 

“I think she has feelings for you,” Miranda tells him, frank, and he blinks again. “I’m telling you because I think you’re leading her on.” 

 

 

The idea is so ridiculous, even as something spasms painfully in his chest, that Silver lets out an incredulous laugh. “Have you even _met_ Madi?" he says, keeping his voice light. "No one leads her on.”

 

 

“I have met her, and that’s why I’m here, talking to you instead of going to practice,” Miranda tells him, looking surprisingly dangerous for someone barefoot. “She cares about you - "

 

 

“That’s because she’s a good person, and we’re trying to remain friendly as we can, as hiding from each other while filming a reality show just isn't the best way to go about anything,” Silver tells her, relentlessly pushing down that feeling in his chest, dangerously light like hope. “And while you’re talking to me, why do you care?”

 

 

“I care because I like to think she and I have become friends these past few weeks,” Miranda tells him. “And you - I don’t know you anywhere near as well. I question your intent.” 

 

 

“If you were her friend, then, why go behind her back to talk to me?” 

 

 

“Who says I’m going behind her back?”

 

 

“Then why are you here instead of practicing?” 

 

 

“Hm,” Miranda says, then inexplicably, “I see why James likes you.” 

 

 

It takes Silver a moment to connect _James_  with Flint. “Why, because I’m not about to bare myself to you? Again, we’ve never spoken.” 

 

 

“Because you’re exactly the sort to hide your intentions, keep your cards close to heart, which is why you still haven’t asked me about my relationship with him." Miranda speaks as though she's expected this, although instead of suspicion, she now regards him like she's piecing through. She's _definitely_  too similar to Flint for his comfort. 

 

 

Silver shifts. “Maybe I don’t want to know.” 

 

 

“Maybe,” and Miranda leans in a little as she says,  “You want to know, and you don’t know how to ask.” 

 

 

“ _Maybe_ it’s not your story to tell me.” 

 

 

“Maybe you want him to tell you, and that’s more important than what he says.” 

 

 

“Do you think I care so much about what he chooses to tell me?"

 

 

“I think you’re just as apt to keep your intentions unknown from even yourself,” Miranda says. “I’d ask you to be careful with Madi, lest you tell her a story that you don’t believe yourself."

 

 

“Wow,” Silver says, after a moment. “You might be meaner than _James_  is.” 

 

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 

 

“You should,” Silver says, without fully thinking it through.

 

 

Miranda studies him, then lets out a short laugh. “I appreciated this talk,"  Miranda says, and she picks up his bag for him, handing it to him. “I will see you around, Mr. Silver.” 

 

 

"Does this mean you're going to corner me again?" Silver calls after her. "I'd appreciate a warning."

 

 

Miranda's smile is glittering, sharp and dangerous. "Consider it a welcome of sorts. Tell James not to forget we're having dinner tomorrow night." 

 

 

For a moment Silver can only stare after her for a long moment, watching as she glides away. His eyes fall to the sweatpants that ride low on her hips, showing two semi circles of skin where the unitard rides high over her waistband on either side - 

 

 

Then he jerks his eyes away, because Miranda might be attractive, but she might just eat him alive if she catches him staring. That, and he's late for a new round of Flint-dance-torture-practice. 

 

 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

“Idelle’s a good dancer,” Vane says. “Hilarious, too."

 

 

“But your impressions?” Charlotte presses. “When her name was announced as your partner, what did you first think of her?” 

 

 

“Don’t remember. After, though, I told her that it was right that the two people with the best asses in there be paired up,” Vane says with a lazy shrug. 

 

 

“I was there, and unfortunately, you also said far too much just after,” Charlotte says. “Entirely, too much detail. _”_  

 

 

In the back, she can hear Featherstone say, “These interviews are a fucking mess,” to whoever's bothering to listen. 

 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

“You should lead,” Flint says as soon as Silver walks into the studio.

 

 

“Did you possibly hit your head?” Silver asks. “Did you try doing that overhead kick without anyone to spot you?” 

 

 

“It’s not an _overhead kick_ \- “ Flint cuts himself off, instead just rolling his eyes before adding, “I mean it. You should lead the next dance.” 

 

 

“ _I_ suggested that I lead once, and you looked at me like I had personally called dancing a waste of time.”

 

 

“You did call dancing a waste of time, just yesterday.”

 

 

“That was when you had me try to - now, don’t avoid the question,” Silver tells him, setting down his duffle bag. “Care to explain the change in your philosophy?”

 

 

“We need to surprise the judges,” Flint says. “What better way than to do something that should label me as crazy? Foolish? Reckless - “

 

 

“You _are_ crazy, and I wonder every day what exactly goes on in that head of yours,” Silver informs him. “What do you mean, _lead_?” 

 

 

Flint levels a look at him. “You’re skilled enough by now I believe you could do it,” he says. “I’ll be there to help, after all, and you might find it easier to dictate the pace.” 

 

 

“Are you suggesting that you are going to give up any measure of control?”

 

 

“I’m not some tyrant - “

 

 

“Yes, you might be worse,” Silver tells him. “You're worse than a tyrant - a _super-tyrant_." 

 

 

"With that sort of eloquence, it's incredible that we haven't won over the judges by now," Flint says, dry as ever. 

 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

Max calls him that night, and Silver picks up just as he’s getting out of the shower, hitting the button for a video chat.

 

 

“You look tired,” Max says. Her face is cast in the hazy yellow light of some hotel room - Silver vaguely remembers her texting about going to Tokyo for a work trip.

 

 

“Yeah, well, someone decided it would be a brilliant idea for me to join a dance television show,” Silver says. “My body’s been screaming at me for four weeks now.” 

 

 

“It’s been keeping you well, though, right?” Max asks, and for a second, the picture goes grainy. Silver taps the screen until the picture clears up once again, and Max has a raised eyebrow waiting for an answer. “Silver?” 

 

 

“Yeah,” Silver says, “No drugs, no drinking - fuck, I’ve been _talking_ to people. Max, look at me now, you should be proud."

 

 

“It’s when you say things like that that the tabloids call me your mother.” 

 

 

“I like it when they call us the wonder twins.” 

 

 

“The resemblance is striking,” Max says, dry. “How has it been with Flint?”

 

 

“Strangely good,” Silver tells her honestly. “I think we might even be - get this - friends?”

 

 

“You had me convinced until friends,” Max says, disbelief coloring her tone. “ _Friends_?” 

 

 

“Well, what else do you call people you have a banter with?” 

 

 

“ _Banter_?” 

 

 

“Max, should I be offended you truly don’t believe me?” 

 

 

“You’re fucking him,” Max decides. “You are, aren’t you?” 

 

 

“Max,” Silver says, “Trust me, I’m not.” 

 

 

“If you insist."

 

 

“But how are you?” Silver presses, only half because he’s trying to divert. “I mean - really. I haven’t asked that enough in the past - and don’t make fun of me, I’m trying here - how have you been?” 

 

 

“Busy,” Max says, and something in her face softens just a little bit, that Silver knows from when she’s missed him and doesn’t want to outright tell him. “It’s tiresome, irritating the board of trustees without you there.” 

 

 

“I’d imagine. Did you go up against them again?" 

 

 

“I did, and they hate that I'm the one who holds the power in that room,” Max says with no small amount of glee, and Silver listens as she tells him all about it. 

 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

 

“When I was growing up, I had to take ballroom dancing lessons,” Thomas tells her. “My best friend and I were terrible - we’d be pulling faces behind the instructor’s back, trying to trip each other up while we were waiting for lunch. Actually, _I_ was terrible - she turned out to be pretty good, when she wasn’t putting up with me.”

 

 

Charlotte glances down at her notes. “Your friend… You’re referring to Miranda Barlow?”

 

 

“Miranda and I have been friends since we were six years old,” Thomas says, giving her an indulgent smile. “When I first knew I was going to appear on _Everyone_ , _Dance!_ , she was the first person I called - and of course, she told me that she was going to be one of the dancers.”

 

 

“Did you expect to be paired up, given your history?” Charlotte’s seen the tabloids. She wouldn’t be surprised if Thomas and Miranda were having some sordid affair - she and the crew have a running bet on who’s sleeping with who, confirmation less proof and more whispers of gossip.

 

 

Those cameramen see everything, after all. 

 

 

Thomas doesn’t bat en eye. “Miranda and I trust the expert panel to put together the best pairings. I’m sure she’s much happier that she’s not stuck teaching me!"

 

 

Politicians, Charlotte thinks privately to herself.  All the same.

 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

 

He’s doing better at the freestyle than he would’ve guessed. He leads Flint around the room for the first time one rainy morning, when Flint deems him ready enough to dictate their movements. For once, the cameras aren't rolling as they practice - word is, Madi and Miranda have some sort of top-secret maneuver they're going to be doing, and so the camerapeople have been diverted to film them instead of Silver and Flint. 

 

 

The times Silver's danced before - well, it’s nothing like this, not now that he’s _actually dancing -_ but then, whenever he had to go to some cushy gala or reception where he spun around some supermodel on the dance floor, he led, but it wasn’t like this. Not when Flint is bigger than him, a force that isn’t easily led no matter how much Silver is control of their movements. 

 

 

“I think you said you wanted me to lead, but I think you also lied to yourself,” Silver tells him when Flint’s tensing throws them off beat for a moment, and they stop. “Tell me I’m not feeling that this is a… challenge.” 

 

 

Flint huffs. “You’re right,” he says. “It’s been a while since I’ve done it this way. I should be better."

 

 

“Now, now, even the Fierce, _Formidable_  Flint can have his off moments,” Silver says, and Flint scoffs. 

 

 

“I’ll focus on remembering to be led, and you’re going to try your best to keep up with every new step,” Flint tells him. “Now, again from the top - “ 

 

 

During one of their breaks, Silver’s scrolling down his phone as Flint takes a long drink of water. “Oh, would you look at that,” he says, absentmindedly shifting the hot pack - curtesy of Flint - under his knee. “I’m dying in about six months.” 

 

 

Flint sets down his bottle. “Do I dare ask?” 

 

 

“According to the Daily News, I’ve been diagnosed with cancer, hence my abrupt departure from the hottest nightclubs,” Silver tells him, as Flint comes over and stands in front of him, peering at his phone along with him like he can’t help himself. “Oh, and this site says I’m married to some French woman for citizenship purposes - interesting, this one says I'm secretly Canadian - “ 

 

 

“You shouldn’t look at those,” Flint tells him, dragging his eyes up to Silver’s face, and looking far from impressed. “They’re garbage.” 

 

 

“Garbage, yes, but what can I say -  curiosity’s always been my weakness,” Silver says with a grin, and he looks down. “Oh - should I click your name?” 

 

 

“Don’t you dare,” Flint says, reaching for his phone. 

 

 

They’re both professionals. Silver has started his own global company, and Flint is a renowned dancer - so naturally, they end up fighting for control of the phone.

 

 

Flint’s arms are longer than Silver’s, but Silver’s managed to duck under his arms so that he has those precious few inches more in which he fights to keep the phone away.

 

 

“This is ridiculous,” Flint puffs out, as he jolts forward in a renewed effort to get the phone. It doesn’t help that they’re both naturally  _competitive_  about it, as Silver makes a noise when Flint’s fingertips graze the edge of the screen, yanking it away - as the phone slips out of his grasp. 

 

 

The phone lands with a clatter on the ground, and Flint pulls back just as Silver bends down quickly to get it. “Ha,” he says, “Let’s see what happens when I click - “ 

 

 

He glances up again, and he realizes that Flint’s arms are bracketing him against the mirrored wall, as he's still balanced on his toes. Flint’s nose brushes against his as Silver moves, and he can feel the incredulous huff that Flint lets out.

 

 

Silver doesn’t know why, but in that moment - he leans in and kisses him.

 

 

The hint of stubble on Flint’s chin brushes against his, and the texture, though not unwelcome, makes him jump a little. But instead of pulling back,  Flint reaches forward, grabbing at Silver's shirt to greedily tug him in for more. The phone falls once more to the ground somewhere, as Flint’s mouth slides against his, and Silver moves to put his hands on either side of Flint's neck, keeping him in. 

 

 

Silver’s back collides fully again with the mirrored wall, then, as Flint presses up against him in response, his hands sliding to Silver's sides. He moans, low and long into Flint’s mouth - 

 

          

And that’s when Flint springs back like Silver’s pushed him away. “I - “ His eyes are a wide green, yawning open before him, as for once, he looks at a loss for words. 

 

 

The realization of what he's just done - holy fuck - washes over him, clearing his mind with the shock. “Sorry,” Silver says, the back of his arms against the cool glass, hands empty. “I don’t know what came over me.” 

 

 

Flint looks at him for what feels like an eternity before nodding. “It's all right,” he says, and his mouth is still wet. “I can't - " 

 

 

“Don’t mention it,” Silver says, putting the ease in his voice as he pushes off, careful not to touch him. "Don't worry, it was just a mistake. Guess I have to get out more, yeah?" 

 

 

“I didn't mean - " 

 

 

“Like I said,” Silver says. “It’s nothing. Just a little pent-up frustration, right? We can forget that happened."

 

 

“Yeah,” Flint says, and his eyes are still so _wide_ , “We can.” He picks Silver’s phone up - miraculously, unscathed, and hands it to him - and now he won't meet Silver's eyes. “I’m going to get lunch. We can call it early today, you need the rest."  

 

 

Flint walks out, the back of his neck still flushed as he hurries, and Silver stares down at his blank screen - now cracked - for a long time. 

 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

 

His phone rings in his pocket as he hurries out. Silver gets into his car, and he puts the phone to his ear just in time.  “Tell me you’ve killed Israel Hands and his dumb ideas for the company,” Silver says, trying not to think of what just happened. 

 

 

When Max doesn’t answer at first, he presses the phone closer to his ear. “Max? Are you all right?” 

 

 

“I need you to be calm,” Max says, “And please, don’t look at the news until you’re somewhere I can talk to you safely.” 

 

 

So naturally, Silver says, "I'm putting you on speaker," and he runs a quick search before Max can finish telling him off. He’s done it before, usually well into a bottle of vodka and when he’s feeling particularly self-destructive, as he ignores whatever Max is saying for the moments it takes to type his own name. 

 

 

 The usual pops up - the Wikipedia page with the horrible photo from 2010, a few ads for - get this - online counseling, and then, a news article. 

 

 

“Oh,” Silver says, as he reads, _John Silver: Party Boy Officially On One Leg_. 

 

 

_“_ They did a promo using the footage of your training,” Max says, as he stares at the hot pink text, “Someone slowed down the footage, and they must have seen it.” 

 

 

They've helpfully circled the prosthetic leg, in bright yellow, in sharp contrast against the slightly grainy screenshot from the trailer. At least his form looks better in that photo, some small part of Silver's brain concludes, the longer he stares. 

 

 

He should’ve known this day was coming. But the curious thing is that the panic he's expected - it's not there. Truth be told, he’s not quite sure how to feel. It’s not like he could hide it forever. Seeing those words splayed out across his phone - it’s not great.

 

 

But now, he just feels more numb than anything else. Reading more and more, as Max's voice filters somewhere in his mind, Silver is just aware of his tight grip on the phone. 

 

 

For a single moment, Silver wishes that Flint were right there. For all his abrasiveness, Flint has perspective on these sorts of things, he thinks - and then he remembers the feeling of Flint's mouth on his, and he realizes he's probably lost that too. All because of some fucking impulse, he had to just go and do _that_. 

 

 

“Well,” Silver says, finally responding, “It’s not like this wasn’t coming.” He keeps his words light. No need to clarify. "Thank you for letting me know." 

 

 

“Silver,” Max says, “I can be on the next flight - "

 

 

“No, don’t bother,” Silver says. "I’m not about to go into crisis mode. I'm fine.”

 

 

“I don't think you _are_ fine. Not with this - ” 

 

 

“I will be,” Silver says, and for the first time possibly ever, he hangs up on Max.

 

 

For not the first time, though, he feels like he really, _really_ needs a stiff drink. But Silver inexplicably knows exactly where he needs to be right then - and it’s not at a bar. 

 

 

He only hopes he's wrong about having fucked it up. 

 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

 

Flint’s house is only a few blocks from the studio where they film. Silver knows this, naturally, because he had gotten a glimpse at Flint’s license - well, he had been rummaging around Flint’s belongings as Flint had been intently watching their performance tape once again, and hadn’t noticed (or hadn’t put up a fuss) when Silver decided to explore again. 

 

 

The house is nice, relatively modest, and as Silver eyes the front door, there's little evidence of any security system to indicate that a celebrity is living there.

 

 

Flint answers the door in jeans and a tee-shirt, and he’s barefoot. That last fact stands out to Silver perhaps the most as he takes a double-take. 

 

 

“Generally, when you arrive at someone’s house unexpectedly, you explain the reason behind your presence,” Flint prompts, and Silver snaps back to attention. "What happened?" 

 

 

“Can I come in?” Silver asks instead, as Flint takes a good look at him. “I’ll be out of your hair soon - I swear, but can I just - ?" 

 

 

He trails off, feeling frustrated with himself, but Flint just opens the door more, looking curious - yet a little guarded.  

 

 

“I’ve got next to no food in the fridge except for beer,” Flint tells him as he leads him into the kitchen. Flint’s apartment is neat, bordering on sterile - but in the corner, Silver spies a photo of Thomas and Flint together, propped up carefully like Flint could hide it away at any moment.

 

 

The kitchen has open walls, a shining stove top - and true to his word when Flint opens the fridge, there’s just a lone six-pack. 

 

 

“That works,” Silver replies automatically, then hesitates. “Actually - water, if you don’t mind?” 

 

 

Flint nods, and he disappears into the kitchen. Silver looks more around the space, as Flint’s voice floats out, “So, do you want to tell me what this is about?” 

 

 

“Well,” Silver says, “Everyone's about to know I'm missing a leg, to start.” 

 

 

Flint’s head appears around the corner. He looks even more surprised, like he was expecting Silver to say something else. “How did they find out?” 

 

 

“Promos,” Silver says. “We look good, according to Max. I didn’t watch it. I just saw the headlines." He catches himself, adds, "I'm not looking for your sympathy. You were around the corner and I figured the paparazzi might not find me here - " 

 

 

“I wasn't going to,” Flint says, and he emerges holding a bottle of beer and a glass of water, which he hands to Silver. “Do you want to talk about that?” 

 

 

“What, did you expect something else?" 

 

 

Flint levels a patient, if somewhat exasperated look, at him. “Silver.” 

 

 

“Oh,” Silver says, thinking of the sensation of Flint’s tongue against his lower lip once again, “No. Not - that." 

 

 

“Okay,” Flint says, mercifully not pressing the subject. “So they know you have a disability.” 

 

 

“Undoubtably.” 

 

 

“And you’re - concerned with how they’ll see you now?” 

 

 

“I guess. I - I’ve had a reputation for so many years, one that I could control, one that wasn’t particularly new or interesting - but I could use that to my advantage. And with this,” and Silver takes a sip of his water, letting the liquid trickle down his throat as if to feed his courage to say next, “This, I’m afraid of what they’ll see with this. I don't know how to spin this." 

 

 

The truth scrapes at his tongue, but this feeling - it's new. Telling someone. Knowing that the worst Flint could do is snap at him - that Silver  _trusts him_. 

 

 

Coming here was the best idea he could've had, but also the worst, given this realization. 

 

 

"Okay," Flint says, seeming fine to let Silver process his thoughts, watching him drink more water instead of speak. 

 

 

“How do you do it?” Silver asks instead, finally, as Flint takes a seat across from him. “You can’t tell me you’re unaware of some of the things they say about you - and what's more, what they say about how you feel about Thomas. How do you manage?" 

 

 

Flint fiddles with the peeling label on the edge of his beer, and he says, “I suppose I find some way. Decide whose opinions I prioritize. Ignoring the rest."  

 

 

Flint's temper is no secret, and back when Silver had first learned about the show, he had read some of the articles. Stories of how Flint verbally berates the people in his studio, going on alcohol-fueled binges every couple of weeks and embodying the rage of a dying star - it doesn't help that he snaps at paparazzi like they've personally insulted him. 

 

 

But Silver has seen him, gotten to know him now. Beyond rough first interactions (his own was memorable, after all) Flint's tough, but professional to others. He doesn't drink much during the training season and Silver has the suspicion he's much more of the easy-going, yoga-loving drunk anyways. Flint's no monster, despite what people try to make him into.

 

 

The way he says it, though, it strikes some discordant chord in Silver. Not quite that Flint’s lying, but instead, like he’s pondering something else as he says it. As Flint continues, "I came out early in my career. It was for the best, I suppose, but in other ways... I know some doors were closed, that couldn't be helped. I was angrier once about it then, that once I came out, they had to categorize me in such a way to make me - "

 

 

He pauses, as if finding the word to fit, " - palatable. But I've made my peace with that. I've had to." 

 

 

Silver watches the twitch of Flint's fingers, the way he's looking with a slight frown, almost like he's replaying some distant memory. He's seen that before. Silver feels something knot inside him at the realization that - “But you care.” 

 

 

Flint looks up, frowning more at him, as Silver says, “You do, don’t you? They call you heartless, calculating - “ 

 

 

“Silver,” Flint says, “I don’t know what you’re getting at here -  “

 

 

“ - and you’re ambitious, yes, harsh, perhaps, but you’ve deserved your career,” Silver says. “For them to reduce you - it's what they do. I know that. But while I'm concerned on how that will affect what I can do, it affects you in a personal way, doesn't it? You  _care_. And the speculation with Thomas, how you must _hate_  him for the little attention you pay him in public - "

 

 

"I don't know what you're trying to achieve - " 

 

 

"And the more you care, the more you lash out, trying to convince the world you're someone else," Silver says, as Flint exhales. "But it doesn't work in your favor, does it? You're not who they think you are, but it doesn't matter once _they_ decide it." 

 

 

Flint gets up suddenly, as if he's getting angry. "I thought you came here to talk about you, not me," he says, sharp. He turns, and Silver realizes he means to leave - and before he can, Silver catches his sleeve. 

 

 

“I don’t think you’re heartless,” Silver tells him. “For what it's worth - it’s not true. I'm sorry."

 

 

Flint's arm is still under his. "You don't know me."

 

 

"Unfortunately, I do now," Silver says, and when he lets go of Flint's arm, he doesn't move away. "We've had our difficulties, so don't you think that puts me at a rare place to see you in this light?"

 

 

Flint's quiet. He surprises Silver even more, when he says, "Earlier, when I kissed you - "

 

 

"We really don't have to - "

 

 

"I know you're still hurting after Madi," Flint says, and now it's Silver's turn to feel stunned. "You've been meeting up with her - is that what you need to do?" 

 

 

"What I - " Silver lets out a short breath. "I don't -  _need_ to do anything. I like spending time with her. Why is everyone so fixated on that?"

 

 

"Because you're not exactly subtle about it," Flint says.

 

 

Silver tries not to flinch. "That bad?" 

 

 

"For what it's worth, I do hope that there is reconciliation there," Flint says, and he holds his eye. "You shouldn't be ashamed of how you feel about her."

 

 

"I'm not ashamed," Silver says. "But she's - well."

 

 

He leaves it open-ended, both having too many words to describe what he feels when he thinks about her and yet nothing that will fully _tell_ him, and for once, Flint doesn't pry.

 

He just nods. "You can stay as long as you like," Flint says, and he leaves Silver. 

 

 

 

 

•••

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @jamesbarlow!


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